


Little Emperor Syndrome

by redbirb



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brief intimate act, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Intimacy, M/M, Minor Violence, Mostly Fluff, Offscreen character death, Threats of Violence, am i missing anyone?, hence the M rating, i refuse to put joffrey and baratheon in the same sentence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbirb/pseuds/redbirb
Summary: Theon likes attention, but the prince is like sunshine in a bottle and nothing like the boys he is used to hanging around the docks.





	Little Emperor Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> Prince!Robb is enthralled with a fisherman's son, Peasant!Theon.

Theon's toes just manage to skim the surface of the ocean water as he sits on the edge of the docks, legs dangling and swinging back and forth. He leans back slightly, palms firmly planted on white painted wood and gazes up at the bright sky overhead. There's not much for him to do but wait for Asha or one of his brothers to fetch him. Life as the third and youngest son of a fisherman was not a glorious means of living : his clothes were often hand-me-downs and itchy, living in a cramped hut sharing a bed with his mother and pushed around by his brothers while simultaneously disappointing his father at every opportunity.

All Theon wanted was a better standard of clothing and a little less boredom.

"What are you looking at?"

The voice startles him into sitting up properly, nearly tumbling forward into the waters below with his haste. Turning his head reveals a boy possibly a year or two younger than himself. He's struck by auburn curls and blue, blue, blue eyes. The boy wears regal fur-lined fabric, boots new unlike Theon's own well-worn pair.

"You," he blurts out unceremoniously and if that isn't embarrassing then call him a seahorse.

The boy laughs and - oh, how happy a sound that makes. "You're funny. I'm Robb."

"I'm not funny, I'm Theon."

The boy, Robb, grins impishly and sits beside him. He starts chattering away, smiling the whole time and Theon doesn't have the heart to chase him off or call him names, just listens and jokes and feels something akin to fondness slowly overtaking.

Theon learns he is Robb Stark, son of the king. It's scary and exhilarating to be in the presence of a prince. He is only a peasant, gets a glimpse of King Eddard once a year during the Winterfell Festival if he's lucky. To be sought out by someone of royalty is monumental for a ten year old.

"I'm the baby of the family," Theon shrugs as he gives information back. Robb is insistent to know about him, although he can't fathom a peasant's tale is that exciting to a boy who lives in a castle. "I'm my mother's favorite." He says this proudly ; a mother's love is all he's ever been able to win afterall.

"I'm the oldest," Robb shrugs back as if it's not important. "I have a brother and sister and my mother's pregnant again."

"Brother? Oh, you mean the bastard." The King's bastard was well-known among the smallfolk. He could often be found roaming the streets, looking for companionship.

Robb frowns at that. "His name is Jon."

"Yeah, yeah." Theon opens his mouth to say something else when he hears Asha calling his name impatiently. "I have to go." He informs while getting to his feet, watching for a moment as Robb scrambles to do the same.

"Be here tomorrow. I want to see you again!"

Theon has a moment where he wants to refuse. Being commanded, especially by someone who is younger than him, generally irks him. However, Robb's hopeful eyes are too much like a puppy's and it immediately makes him feel guilty for the thought. So he nods and waves goodbye as he starts running towards the sound of his sister's voice.

He comes back as requested and again the following days after.  
__________

Greyjoys have an old feud with the Starks. Or at least that's what his father had drilled into his mindset since birth and never let him forget it. His father often spits at the monarch's name, repeats the story of how their ancestors were conquered first by the Targaryens then by the Baratheons and Starks. His uncles are no better, men driven into bitterness by the failings of past wars.

"I should be king," Balon will mutter around his ale. "It should be our house banner."

Theon's gotten used to his drunken mumbling. He attempts to stay far away when his father gets as such, violent frustrations are often aimed at the youngest child when Balon's had too much mead. Tonight is one of those nights and Theon flees his home in search of safety. He ends up a few feet outside the castle walls, skillfully skirting around the stationed guards to a small unoccupied alcove. Here it is quiet except for the hum of insects which allows him to safely doze while leaning against cold stone. He doesn't register the sound of energetic footsteps until a familiar figure is already upon him.

"Theon?"

Déjà Vu of their first meeting, he's startled into sitting up and opening his eyes to the blessed sight of Prince Robb. Older now, Robb has grown stockier, broad shoulders outlined by the tailored uniform he wears. His dark red hair still curls wildly, eyes as blue and deep as the sea with a sparkle in them. Theon is still taller, a fact both are reminded of when the lankier of the two stands.

"It's late... what're you doing out of the castle?"

Robb snorts, clearly amused. "Do not scold me. I am a man half grown, may I remind you." He speaks with an eloquence Theon envies and has tried to replicate on occasion. It is maddening to think not long ago they had been on equal footing as boys yet the years have been kinder to Robb in terms of maturity and grace. "Am I not allowed to roam the land of my home? I'm glad I did - for with luck I have stumbled upon an old friend! It is I who should question your appearance."

Theon flushes. "I..."

He can't speak the truth even if he trusts the other enough to know about it. Being Robb's friend comes at a price : the wrath of his father. One word of neutrality about the King and his ilk could send his father into a cold rage. Robb is no stranger to Theon's parental woes but it is hard for a prince to understand when he has the unwavering love of his father the king and mother the queen. Robb has never been struck by his father's hand or endured other methods of cruelty by someone he is meant to trust so deeply. Theon has the bruises to prove that he does.

At his continued silence, Robb speaks again. "Come inside with me."

That is a surprise. He has never been invited in before, only met the heir within the confines of the town and docks. Robb likes being outside of the castle, wants to explore and see things. Theon has often wondered what the inside of the King's home looks like but never dared to ask Robb for anything.

"Really?" He sounds as if he is a starstruck boy and perhaps that isn't far from the truth.

Robb's answer is a toothy grin and grabbing one of his friend's hands, pulling him towards a side entrance. Theon is nervous when he sees stationed guards but they pay no heed of the peasant, only nod and greet their prince and resume their duty. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, walking leisurely with the other as his head swivels back and forth to survey the new area. Theon takes mental note of any viable hiding places and escape routes as he's been taught ; Asha was in the business of teaching him how to steal and pickpocket effectively since he turned sixteen making him adopt certain habits. He's tugged further in, tucked into a library where it is truly quiet, bare of even the songs of insects. Robb uses a candle he swiped from one of the hallways to guide them and stops by two wooden chairs next to a large window.

Theon doesn't realize they are still holding hands until they've stopped walking. He quickly snatches his hand back and busies himself by taking a seat and book. Robb copies the motion, without a book however, with a smile in place and eyes curious. "Well?"

"Well what?" Theon mumbles while turning the book in his hands.

"Well, are you not going to comment on the castle? You told me you have never been inside one before."

"Mhm," he sets the book carefully in his lap before looking up. "It's very big."

That earns him a laugh. "Indeed it is. The library is one of my favorite rooms. Hardly anyone comes in here but myself and Sansa."

"Your sister?"

Robb nods, leaning forward in his chair with that same sparkle in those drowning blues. "I should have done this sooner. Certainly would have if I had known you were trying to sleep against the stone wall."

For the second time tonight, Theon flushes. "It's my father," he admits reluctantly and needs to say no more.

Robb's smile twitches down for a moment before returning. "Then you shall sleep here tonight. Surely you can return in the morning without a fuss."

It is an appealing offer but risky. He's managed to keep their friendship a secret (after begging Asha not to tell a soul because hiding anything from her was always fruitless and impossible) and fears of being founded should he push the boundaries too far. Balon would kill him surely, at least that's what he believes, if the man ever knew. What worse a betrayal to the head of a defeated House than the defection of his own son?

Theon shudders at the thought ; he is not willing to sail into those waters now or possibly ever. "Robb I can't-"

"Please, I insist. You will catch your death of cold out there should you choose to remain sleeping outside."

Theon works his jaw, uneasy. "If I were to be caught..."

"I will handle it," Robb assures. "You will not be chased out."

"It's more my family than yours..." And that is a bold statement considering the bad blood between Greyjoy and Stark has simmered on both halves. Theon can hardly believe the King would approve of his son meandering with a member of a resented former House.

They are interrupted by the library door opening and closing audibly, measured steps weaving through the bookshelves to them. They hold their breaths as a man approached, gaze assessing and seemingly fixed on the obvious stranger within these castle walls.

"Ser Jory," Robb greets in pristine fashion. "I take it you heard us talking."

"Yes, dear prince. May I ask the identity of your companion?"

Theon struggles to remember manners, brief lessons Robb had taught him when they were younger and he'd been curious about learning the ways of being a proper lord. "Theon, ser."

He withholds his surname for beneficial reasons : no guard dog of the king would kindly dismiss the presence of a Greyjoy here.

"My guest," he hears added by his host. "I have offered him refuge for the night."

A pause. "Very well. Shall I send a maid to prepare accommodations?"

"No. That will be quite alright," Robb's tone holds authority as he speaks, a tone of finality surely learned from his parents. "I will take care of things. You are dismissed."

"As you wish, dear prince."

The knight leaves them without protest, surprising Theon. Although Robb is heir to the throne, he is still fourteen and young. For Theon it is astounding to see someone younger than himself holding such power and readily using it.

At his yawn, Robb relents to the call of night. The royal prince leads him to a bedroom, quickly shutting them in. "You can sleep in my room," Robb announces and throws him a spare shirt made of the most comfortable cotton Theon has ever felt between his fingers.

He hesitates to undress. "Here? On the floor?"

"No!" His friend laughs. "In the bed."

"Robb!" Theon sends him a scandalized look.

"What? I share with my brothers at times." Robb is unabashed in stripping down to his breeches and replacing his shirt. The peasant boy has moments to memorize the exposure of Robb's flesh, muscle growing where there had once been baby fat. He turns away when he moves to follow, face hot. Turning back around shows the prince beckoning Theon under the covers. "Hurry. I want to blow out the candle."

Theon has just gotten settled, a thigh pressed against Robb's, when the bedroom door creaks open. He freezes in fear and prays it is not the King or Queen checking on their eldest. "Robb?"

In slips a dark-haired boy Robb's age, comely with long eyelashes framing grey eyes. It takes a second but Theon recognizes him as the King's bastard. "Jon, I thought you were sleeping?"

"I was," says Jon who grimaces. "But I heard you laughing. Who is he?"

Theon bristles under the scrutiny. "This is Theon, my friend."

"The fisherman's boy?" Jon's eyes have gone from curious to wary. He must know of Theon's true origin, of the threat he could potentially be. "Father wouldn't approve."

"I can make my own friends," Robb says defiantly. "Go back to sleep."

Jon hesitates at the door, biting his lip. "... can't I sleep with you?"

"There won't be enough room." Theon can hear how the longer he talks to his brother, the more Robb reverts to a commoner's tongue. "Sleep in your own bed."

Jon sulks and slinks back through the door, leaving the two boys alone.

"Sorry," Theon mumbles but isn't sure for what exactly.

"Don't be," Robb soothes him and blows out the candle before settling under the covers. "Come sleep."

Not knowing what else to say, Theon complies. When he's stopped rustling and becomes comfortable, he feels Robb curl closer, feet and knees touching. Robb is close enough that he can feel hot breath gust the tip of his nose.

"Goodnight," a sleepy voice speaks.

Theon swallows the butterflies back down his dry throat. "Goodnight."  
__________

Theon is nineteen when members of House Martell come to Winterfell. He has never seen such dark skin as there are only pale skinners who dare live in the midst of the cold country. He sees them while unloading fish with his brothers that morning, a boat as big as a whale anchors and out steps visitors from the desert lands of Dorne. They wear robes of dark orange and brown, delicate designs swirl across the fabric like snakes.

He meets with Robb later that day, closer to sunset. The prince sneaks him inside the castle walls with great discretion, slipping into Robb's bedroom somehow without being caught. The moment they're inside, Robb breathes out a relieved puff of air and collapses on the bed still clothed. Theon is careful in taking off his boots before claiming a corner for himself.

"What happened?"

"Dornish guests," the Stark boy (hardly a boy now) waves him off. "Forgive me for being late."

"I almost thought you forgot about me," Theon snarks but it isn't all taunt and tease.

Robb grins wolfishly up at him.

They talk for hours, Theon spinning tales of krakens in the sea and pirates seeking treasure. "I was kissed by a mermaid once."

"You jest," Robb pouts.

"I do not. She had hair as red as blood and seaweed green scales."

"If she was real then tell me her name."

"Ros," he lies easily. His thoughts touch on a girl with soft skin and a sly smile. "She was beautiful."

Robb smacks one of his ankles weakly and mumbles," Bet Arianne is more fair."

"Arianne?"

"A girl I met from Dorne." Robb sits up, facing him. "She is unlike any woman I have ever seen. Her skin is as dark as chocolate and figure womanly. Even Sansa envied her."

Theon feels... something. It's dark and sinister and threatens to swallow him whole.

"No mermaid," he huffs.

The prince narrows his eyes at him and then - "Show me."

"Hm? I can't make her appear, Robb. I'm not a mage."

"Show me how you kissed her."

Of all the things to ask! Theon's eyes go wide, searching the other's face frantically. "Kiss you?" The answer is a simple nod. Theon is almost certain he's hallucinating. "I'm a boy."

Robb shrugs, unperturbed. "Boys can kiss each other. My great uncle Brynden kisses other men."

Brynden Tully's stony expression flashes through the fisherman's thoughts. He can't imagine the knight kissing anyone but there have been rumors. However, there are always rumors and Theon knows gossip as well as any brothel worker ; it's one of the only sources of entertainment for the smallfolk.

"Robb!" He hisses. "You shouldn't speak of that!"

"It is just you and I."

Theon shoots him a dirty look. "That's not the point."

"You are afraid then?"

"Afraid of what?"

"Of kissing me," and Robb says it so quietly it could have gone unheard. It is said with a tone of vulnerability, something Theon has no right to hear. It stirs within him something he dare not name.

"I'll do it," Theon hastily says with his heart in his throat. He distantly wonders if kissing a boy will feel any different than the girls he's come to know, if his lips are too chapped or wet, if this is a terrible mistake.

He has no time to really ponder as Robb gets closer, now facing each other on their knees. The prince is the first to move, a small rocking forward to brush their lips together chastely. It leaves a tingling sensation against Theon's skin, prompting him to courageously tip forward and reconnect their mouths more firmly. It feels... no different than the girls he's kissed before as Robb's lips are soft and pliable beneath his own. Boldly he reaches up and runs his fingers through the prince's hair as he has always wanted to do and shivers at the gasp it elicits.

They break apart, come back together and break apart again as if in a dance.

Robb's face is as red as his hair, Theon's hand slipping from auburn locks to gently skim his fingertips against the heated flesh curiously. He wonders if he fairs any better, lips singed from their bout of kissing.

"Your lips are soft," Theon whispers into the silence of the room without thinking.

His thoughts are still a little fuzzy even as Robb cracks a grin and says," Yours too."  
__________

Two mornings had passed before Theon sees _her_.

Arianne Martell is beautiful with dark sun-kissed skin and curves in all the right places. She is a princess adorned with gold jewelry and the finest silk accompanied by a few ladies dressed in similar fashion. He spots her talking to Robb's sisters during an adventure to the market, a small group of royalty and guards gracing the streets. They are stopped infront of a booth selling pelts belonging to a small family of hunters well-known in Winterfell. He recognizes Alys and her husband Smalljon negotiating prices and showing off their merchandise, can hear melodic laughter as a sign of good conversation.

He attempts to get closer, for reasons unknown, and stumbles upon a common girl he knows named Kyra. Her eyes light up when she spots him, beckons him closer until they are standing together. Immediately she's gossiping in his ear, gesturing subtly to the forms of the nobles standing close by at the stalls.

"Did you hear?" She harps. "Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"The prince is marrying her!"

Theon's stomach drops. He knows who she is talking about but forces himself to ask anyway. "Which prince?"

"Prince Robb, of course! Everyone says so. Can you imagine how beautiful their children will be?"

The horrible thing is he can, can imagine the heirs with dark skin and reddish-brown hair, can imagine the princess with belly swollen and Robb's beaming smile as he picks up two sired children. Something vile creeps along his neck, festers at the base of his throat at the thought. He's pried from his mind at the sound of loud giggling. Head snapped up, Theon catches sight of the princess looking at him with a coy smile. He flushes, wonders if she knows, if Robb has confessed of his infidelity to the future bride. His lips start to tingle at the memory, prompting him to turn and flee without so much as a muttered goodbye to Kyra.

He would not go far, however, away from this source of recent trouble. That night he waits for Robb as always, too many questions lay on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill like a waterfall. When he hears footsteps approaching he expects it to be the prince, not noticing the lighter quality to the sound until he is too late to clue in.

"Good evening," greets a sultry voice," I am Arianne Martell."

"Princess," he blurts and belatedly falls into a messy bow.

That same melodic laugh he heard earlier rings out, softer this time. "My name will do. I have come to fetch you. Robb is a bit... busy at the moment. Come this way."

Dumbfounded, all Theon can do is obey. He follows behind, watching her weave in and out of corridors with an ease and practice that should not exist. Eventually she turns to him, smiles and gestures to the library, the first room he had ever ventured into when invited inside the Stark's castle. On instinct when he enters he finds his favorite spot, the chair by the window which overlooks the courtyard.

The princess - Arianne sits where Robb would usually occupy in the seat across. "Your name is Theon, correct?" She waits for his slow nod before continuing," Robb has spoken of you often. It appears he is **very** fond of you."

A part of him glows at the acknowledgement of Robb's affections as most of their family is still unaware of their interactions (except for Maester Luwin and Jon Snow) here in this home. Another part aches, knowing now he will have to share or be pushed out entirely. "You are angry about it? About Robb and me?"

"Robb and I," she gently corrects and shakes her head, dark ringlets bouncing," and no, I am not angry. I am very pleased to see Robb happy."

"Why? Aren't you angry your husband is seeing a man?"

That laugh, again, echoes through the library. Theon can feel his face burning. "Silly rumors, I am afraid, have been running wild among the smallfolk. I am not here for marriage."

"Then... then what are you here for?"

Arianne makes a move to get more comfortable in her - Robb's - chair, leaning back and crossing her legs. "It is true my family and I have travelled here for diplomatic reasons. However, it was never our intention to do so through a marriage union. My father is working out an arrangement for trading goods and alliances between the houses of Dorne and the new ruling kings. But he also has... information that King Eddard and King Robert may find useful."

"Information?"

A coy smile makes a reappearance as Arianne hovers a finger over her lips. "Now that would be a secret."

He nods in understanding, noticing that there is a distinct lack of disgust in the way she had mentioned his and Robb's relationship ; was it a relationship now? "You aren't angry?" He asks again, treading, leading, wondering.

"You think a man who loves another man warrants anger or horror?"

Theon bows his head, embarrassed. "I fear the Queen would have me beheaded were she to know."

"Ah, all mothers are protective of their children, sons and daughters alike. You are fraternizing with her eldest, her first. Fear is an appropriate response. But I doubt Robb would allow anything to happen to you."

"How do you know," he snipes and immediately regrets it. Smallfolk speaking in such a tone to nobility, to royalty no less, can be punishable by whipping in some lands. Although not a common practice in Winterfell, this is a visiting princess and should she say the word it may be done to keep tensions from forming.

Arianne just continues to smile. "As I have said, Robb talks often of you. He and I have spent quite the time together speaking. His mind always seems to come back to you."

His heart aches to hear this. "You accept us."

"I accept everyone. Love is not something that can be forced, it is something that is made between two people willingly. You also hold fondness for Robb or you would not be here." She uncrosses her legs and stands gracefully, rises with an elegance that many would envy. Theon watches her walk to a bookshelf, petting the spines of a few books while she speaks. "My uncle and aunt dabble in trysts with the same gender. A friend of mine of the Tyrells has a brother which pledges many... services to the youngest brother of King Robert. I have heard Ser Blackfish has been known and seen in the company of men for more than knighthood." She looks at Theon from over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "You think you are the only one?"

Theon swallows hard, is spared having to answer when someone else enters the library. Stepping into sight is a tall, broad-shouldered man, hair white and short bearded. Theon tenses at the sight of a long axe strapped to the newcomer's back, a weapon bigger than anything he has ever laid eyes on. He knows he shouldn't be in the castle, by luck he hasn't been found and brought to the King and Queen for punishment, hasn't had to explain his presence here as Robb's little secret and now that may all change.

"Little princess," a deep voice speaks - the man," your father has sent me to see you safely to your chambers."

"It is rather late," Arianne sighs, as if put upon and gives Theon a sweet smile. "I am certain your prince will be coming soon. Perhaps we may see each other again before I leave back to Dorne. Goodnight, Theon."

The startled young man fumbles a reply, waits for the two to leave him and lets out a stuttering breath, heart hammering. _That was... strange_.

Arianne, it appears, is right. Robb comes searching for him, pulling him back to his bedchamber for privacy. They talk until dawn is starting to peak over the horizon : they talk about Arianne, of what they want from each other, of feelings they have been dancing around for months now.

"You thought I was going to marry her?" Robb laughs and Theon can't help but be embarrassed and a little irritated.

"I didn't know! Everyone has been speculating about what is going on. How was I supposed to know truth from rumor?"

The prince with a glitter in his eye, gives Theon a slow once-over, the action sending goosebumps across the latter's skin. "You think I would kiss you if I knew I was marrying another?"

Theon doesn't have an answer for that as he neither wants to admit to self-doubt or insult Robb. "One day you will have to."

Robb huffs, affronted and grabs one of his friend-turned-lover's shoulders, pulling the other closer. His lips brush Theon's left cheek, then nose, then the right cheek and smoothes along the jawline at leisure. "I refuse to marry not out of love."

"But you - you have to!" Theon shouldn't encourage any false hope, he knows, as much as he wants to believe that Robb would do this for him, for them. However, if there is one thing Theon knows about himself, it is that he won't hinder Robb's life either, no matter how strong the selfish need to claim all of the boy prince for himself becomes. The roundabout confession both pleases and terrifies him because fairytales aren't real, and certainly not for Theon. "You need heirs, a wife, a queen. I... I am none of those, I can never be, Robb. Don't speak like a fool."

"A fool, you say?" Robb stands from the bed, stands straight and hardens his expression. He balls his fists, narrows his eyes and stares Theon down with a look of determination befitting a knight about to charge into battle. "If loving you makes me a fool, then so be it. When I am king I will never marry. I will name one of my brothers my heir, I will rule as I please using the teachings of my father and mother. And I will have you by my side, I will never give you up."

Theon's heart crumbles into itself, both out of affection and acquiescence because Robb's own heart is doing the talking but he knows that is only one half of his concern. Theon knows that there is a formidable difference between what Robb wants to do and what he has to do, even at the cost of the things he desires.

They kiss for a long time. Theon treasures every moment, tries to burn it into his being in preparation for the day this will no longer be.  
__________

Theon's uncle, Victarion, owns one of the taverns closer to the outskirts of town. Since he turned seventeen, he's spent more of his days there than with his father and brothers at the docks. His uncle tolerates him, for the most part, allows him to work for a pretty coin if he doesn't drink most of the mead or cause trouble while there. At nineteen he has built himself a reputation among the regulars as the always smiling nephew of the barkeep, known for his wit and ability to spin stories to entertain an entire room of men.

Today he spots Sandor Clegane at one of the tables, sitting alone as always. Dusky, his uncle's wife, serves him the regular cup of mead and a plate of chicken. She shoots Theon a wary glance when he approaches, she may not be able to say anything because she is mute but her expressions convey everything he needs to hear : she is worried. As she should be for Sandor Clegane is a behemoth, more creature than man with plenty of rumors circulating about the scar that envelops half his face. As far as anyone knows, he came to Winterfell after becoming smitten with Sansa Stark, the King's eldest daughter, when she visited King Robert and his family.

His aunt is also cautious and worried because of the news that had be announced to the public by the King just that very morning : of Sansa's betrothal to Willas Tyrell.

Sandor's face is grim, shoulders hunched in on himself. He is obviously not in the mood to talk. Theon tries his luck against better judgement.

"How are you holding up, ser?"

Sandor grunts, lifts his head just enough to glower. "You have a death wish, boy."

"Perhaps," he says jovially and takes a seat across from the other. "I want to know if you're going to be trouble today. Can't have you starting any bar fights this early in the day and drive all the drunks away. I do like being paid."

A bark of a laugh startles patrons sitting close by. Theon is pleased, if a little smug, about being the cause of the sound. "Well said," Sandor muses and throws him a gold coin. "Now leave me."

"You're a prickly piece of shit, you know that?" Theon taunts, pockets the coin but obliges the heartsick man.

He circles around the bar, waggles his brows and proudly shows off the gold coin to his aunt who only offers a shake of the head. He works late into the evening when a red-bearded man and a woman with wild hair he's met before come walking in to inhabit the stools infront of the bar. He waits for his uncle to serve them before venturing over to start a conversation.

"Osha," he greets with a smarmy smile.

She sniffs, turning her nose up at him. "Boy, dun' you start wit' me today."

"I'm not starting anything," he says innocently, tapping a finger against the bar top. "Who is your new friend?"

The bearded man grins, teeth sharp and bared. "My name is Tormund. They call me Giantsbane."

Theon raises a brow at that, eyes sliding over to Osha. The woman offers a challenging look of her own, daring him to say anything. He chooses the safe option, for once, and remains silent, moving to clean some of the dirty cups starting to pile up to avoid being yelled at by his uncle for slacking off.

"Heard you like sneaking into the castle," Osha quietly pipes up after awhile.

Theon makes the mistake of freezing. He quickly reigns in his composure to shoot the woman a questioning glance. "The castle?"

"You know what I speak of, boy," Osha points a finger at him. "You sneak in to see the prince."

Tormund leans closer, adding in," Aye, Jon Snow says so."

Theon hisses, looking around wildly for any eavesdroppers, then leans closer to whisper angrily. "Don't talk so loud. It's... it's not true."

"Jon ain't no liar," Tormund snorts.

"Who is he to talk. Robb is his brother no less." Theon can't fathom such a thing. Since when did Jon do anything that could possibly cause Robb harm?

"People are talkin'," Osha supplies," they see you slip through the gates."

"I asked Jon about it. He told me the truth."

Fury swirls in Theon's vision, anger at Jon and unseen gossipers playing a dangerous game with his life and Robb's future. Instead of losing his temper, however, he takes a moment to calm down and licks his lips. If he gives too much away then deniability will be implausible. He wonders if Osha is pressing his buttons, trying to goad him, trying to see how far she can strip him of his wits ; it wouldn't be the first time the near feral female has tried.

"Rumors," he murmurs instead and gets back to cleaning glasses.

He ignores them for the rest of the night, takes over serving Sandor for as long as he stays. He sees Robb that night but holds his tongue of what he's heard.  
__________

Three nights later Robb leaves to act as an envoy for his father. This leaves Theon alone and to his own devices.

A plan forms in his head and the first morning he can get away from his family, Theon goes searching. Jon Snow is notorious among the smallfolk, both for his parentage and the kindness he shows to the lower class. The born bastard is also known for the company he keeps, an ever growing group of outcasts that meet at another tavern in Winterfell called The Wall.

Theon enters The Wall with hood drawn, face hidden. It is crowded, commoners compacted into seats around square tables, and it is also loud with boisterous laughter. He spots Jon Snow at a corner table with a few of his companions and...

Was the bastard sticking his tongue down the throat of Randyll Tarly's son?

Samwell Tarly is a pudgy boy Jon's age, pale-eyed with dark hair atop a moon-shaped face who appears overjoyed with the fact that his "friend" is pawing at his chest. It shocks Theon into stillness, unsure of how to approach. Eventually he finds the dying embers of his previous anger and fans the flames anew, beginning to walk forward again.

"Bastard," he hisses and watches with some satisfaction the way Samwell and Jon flinch apart.

Jon's eyes immediately find him, grey orbs becoming icy upon recognition, sharpened into steel. "Greyjoy."

Theon occupies an empty seat, two young men beside him. One is built like an aurochs and the other has big ears, both giving him a wary look. He should know better than to start something here : a place he is unfamiliar with and filled with all of Jon's friends.

He pushes his luck by glaring at Jon in contempt. "So you like to spread rumors do you? About your own brother too."

"What are you talking about?"

"About Robb and... I," Theon more quietly supplies.

Jon's face is complex. He looks incredulous and annoyed, a twinge of exasperation filters through as well. "Robb confided in me."

"So you told other people? What happens when his mother finds out?"

"Afraid for your life, Greyjoy?"

He won't admit that, yes, Queen Catelyn terrifies him. "You should know her disdain well enough to know," he grits out.

At Jon's grimace, he huffs, self-satisfied. Samwell shifts uncomfortably, looking between them as they bicker. He opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again. "We don't judge here..." His voice is timid and near silent, barely audible in the tavern.

"I can see that," Theon sneers. "But we are talking about the future King of the North."

"Robb doesn't care," Jon cuts in and places a protective hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "If you cared for him at all, neither would you."

"You are just as foolish as him! What do you think will happen when he is made to rule? He cannot be...!" Theon bites down on his words, unwilling to fully admit to his deed. There are strangers here, and although most northerners are loyal to the Starks, there are some who would eagerly pick apart anything to discredit an heir.

"You're the fool," haughtily says the boy with the big ears," and a coward."

Theon turns his head to glare at him too. "You're welcome to suck upon your friend's cock over there infront of the town for all I care but my name and the prince's cannot be intermingled openly. My friendship with Prince Robb is no one's concern."

"Friendship?" The boy laughs at him," You hear that Grenn?"

"Aye," the big male by his side has the nerve to smile," sounds familiar, Pyp."

"You know nothing," Theon sneers again, lip pulled up in a snarl," and I will not be the talk of the town because of your whore tongues!"

"You already are," Jon sounds unapologetic. "People have seen you sneak through the gates at night. That's why the rumors surfaced."

Theon sits in tight-lipped silence for a moment. Fear sweats coldly against his brow, the thought of his family, especially his father and brothers, hearing this makes him feel sick.

It must show on his face because Samwell takes it as cue to lay a fat fingered hand on one of his own that's found perch on the tabletop. "We don't judge here," he repeats from moments earlier and flashes an encouraging, albeit weak, smile.

Something in Theon's heart twists and he does something ugly : he throws Sam's hand off him, standing abruptly, chair scratching across the floor in a screech. "Don't touch me you fat flower!"

He immediately feels guilt at the shocked and hurt look at Sam's face. He only has a few seconds to let it sink in as Jon shoots up quickly, growling reminiscent of a feral direwolf and as if he is a composer, Jon's reaction causes a hush to spread throughout the tavern. Theon is acutely aware that everyone has turned to stare at them, more specifically him as the clear subject of Jon's ire.

"Everything alright, Jon?"

"It's fine, Halder," Jon grounds out to a male suddenly over Theon's shoulder that looks more than ready to throw a punch. "He was just leaving."

Theon does leave, hastily, face aflame in embarrassment and shame. He doesn't forget Samwell Tarly's expression, Jon's fury or his self-mortification. He sleeps alone for a week without Robb to mend his broken pieces. Despite his fear, Jon never mentions the scene at the tavern to Robb or anyone else.  
__________

The result of the dornish guests and Robb's envoy message bears fruit by the time spring is upon them. The truth about former Queen Cersei Lannister's infidelity comes to light, her three children born allegedly from King Robert Baratheon's loins proven false and the lioness's offspring disinherited by order of the King in the South. An already turbulent marriage is annulled on the grounds of adultery and the span of the seven kingdoms holds its breath.

"King Robert has no heir?"

Theon and Robb have ventured to the woods to hunt, deer more prominent the farther they dare to go. The prince has provided them with two horses, Theon steadily grows attached to the one he's come to call Smiler. They've been talking about current events, of the strained circumstances plaguing King's Landing and the royal family.

"My father believes King Robert wants to legitimize his baseborn children and appoint an heir himself. King Robert has a few daughters and at least two sons." They slow to a leisurely trot when they hit the thickest part, tree branches hung low and foliage becoming more of an obstacle. Smiler gives a huff, resists enough to force them into a near crawl. Theon takes the time to sling his bow off a shoulder and into a steady hand. "He has offered to help track down the possible heirs."

"Will you be going too?"

"No," Robb shakes his head as he speaks. "As heir I must walk in my father's stead."

"So," Theon drawls," King for a day?"

"However long my father asks of me."

Theon side-eyes the prince. "Will be all yours someday."

Robb murmurs something he doesn't catch, too quiet and quick to pick up. He goes to ask the other to repeat himself but is distracted by the sight of a fox, fingers twitching around the bow. He moves carefully, raises his bow into position and aims as precisely as he can. Robb is watching him, he can feel the intense stare boring holes into him, sends prickles along his skin. It messes him up when he shoots, he misses by a couple inches which scares the fox off.

Theon curses, retracts his arm. "Stop staring at me."

"Hm?"

He turns a glare onto Robb. "You're staring at me too hard. It made me miss."

The prince gets that grin, the one that spells mischief and stolen kisses. "I was not aware a person could stare too hard. Am I making you nervous, Theon?"

He shouldn't feel as flustered as he is under this boy's gaze. "Don't tease me. You know what I mean, Robb."

"No, I do not. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"I should have never talked to you on the docks that day. I should have known you'd be nothing but trouble."

"Trouble," Robb laughs the word, the sound of freedom and life and everything Theon's world revolves around these days. "I suppose I might be."  
__________

His fingertips are like scorch marks across Theon's skin, breath hot against neck and chin and lips. Nights where they've stowed away in Robb's bedchambers have become his favorite, nothing to stop them, no appearances to maintain or family to push them apart.

Theon knows, however, that this will not last, it cannot last. He tells Robb as much.

"We get older every day," he says and there is a hint of misery in his tone. "One day we won't be able to do this. One day you'll need to be a king."

His muscles lock up at the thought, wonders how he'll move on, if he'll be able to go back to being a fisherman's son while the memory of Robb's hands and lips haunt his every step.

Robb curls into his side, rests a stubbled cheek on his forearm. "You think I would abandon you for the crown?"

Theon makes a noise, a cross between exasperation and frustration. "We can't be together if you are to be king. The Court will not allow it, your parents will not allow it and no one will want a king who lies with a fisherman's son."

"Shall I make you a lord then?"

He send Robb a look. "You know what I meant."

"I care not for what anyone says or wants. My desire for you extends past passion and lust, you must know that, surely?"

He does, doesn't want to hear it, makes things too real, too personal. Biting his lip," You need a wife and heirs. Something I cannot give you."

Robb sits up straight, meets Theon's gaze with eyebrows scrunched. "We have had this talk before. There are other ways around such traditions."

"The point is you shouldn't do that!"

"And why not?"

"Because...!" Theon throws his hands up, hates talking in circles. "You're not meant to do that. It's not... not kingly."

He's kissed gently, distracted by his frustration momentarily until Robb leans back again. "You worry over nothing. If I am king and I will it, it will be so. I will not abandon you, I will not forget you or the taste of your lips or the light of your eyes." Theon can feel his face burning scarlet but Robb is not done, his eyes turn smoldering. "I will share my bed with no other, will keep you by my side, need you, want you. I will dress you in fine furs, lavish you and dote on you. Share our meals together, our lives together. Do you not wish for the same?"

And Robb had that attractive (and damning) quality that inspired such hope.  
__________

King Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark are dead.

The Lannisters have opposed their former king, taken their heads adorned on spikes to be paraded among King's Landing. The Starks mourn the loss of a father and husband, Robb is named King in the North and a boy turns into a man using the strength of tragedy to mold him.

Looking at Robb now to see duty shape his brow, square his jaw and Theon realizes that Robb is a man, no longer the boy he's been stealing kisses from in the dark of Robb's bedchamber. Theon feels the fear he's been harboring since their first kiss come to life in his heart, a burst of pain strong enough to strangle his breath into shuddering gasps. This is the moment, the truest test they both face for each other : will Robb keep his word, his promise to Theon.

War is upon them. The newly crowned king calls all of the North's bannermen, summons a war council to strategize a plan of attack. The grieving Queen Mother, Catelyn Stark, travels to the Riverlands for their support, accompanied by trusted men. The maester sends ravens to as many allies as they can call upon, one even to Dragonstone and Storm's End to try and contact Robert Baratheon's younger brothers. It is a mess of activity in Winterfell, Theon has hardly seen hide or hair of Robb in weeks.

"You want me to be your squire?"

After so long a time apart this is the last thing he expected of Robb to proposition him with. Yet the hard set of blue eyes doesn't waver. "I want you close to me. Now is the time I can bring you under my house and my name. Will you not fight with me? If so I can find another arrangement here but... when I march into war I will not see you. Perhaps not for a long time."

"I'm not afraid to fight," Theon says stubbornly.

The hint of a smile. "I did not say that you were."

"Are you afraid?"

Robb is quiet for a long moment, sighs. "Yes."

"Good." Robb looks at Theon curiously. "It means you're not stupid. You may actually have a chance at not dying in battle."

A laugh, genuine, despite everything Theon can still make him laugh. "Will you fight alongside me?"

"Yes," Theon says because he must, he can't think of doing anything else, not with Robb suffering.

But he can't become a squire to the new king without telling his family, without them finding out. He should have known it could've been the death of him, that his brothers would sneer, that his father would try to throttle him. They beat him harshly and Theon thought maybe he was going to die. It had been because of his mother's pleading and Asha pushing his older brothers away that gave him the time to escape.

He didn't believe he would see them again.

He lies to Robb about the bruises, especially the ones around his neck. If Robb knows, he does nothing, won't without Theon's consent. Even if the dark cloud behind his gaze stays until every last blemish heals.

Off to war he went, with Robb and the entirety of the North to regain control of the South for the remaining Baratheons. Surely it couldn't take too long, afterall the Lannisters were not the rightful heirs, were treasoners of the royal crown. Who would support them in this endeavor?

"Margaery Tyrell? From Highgarden?"

"Aye, Your Majesty. She is going to marry Joffrey Lannister, the King Pretender."

The news breaks the war council into solemn silence. It has been little over half a year since the start of this great war, the Seven Kingdoms almost evenly split. The North has gained a large ground against their enemies but spies and betrayers have also laid ruin to progress. The Freys have turned on them after Robb's refusal to marry one of Walder Frey's daughters, diverting responsibility to his mother's brother, Edmure. The uncle married Roslin Frey, pretty and kind, yet Walder Frey was still obviously displeased. He'd cut off access to the Riverlands not long after the late Queen's return from Storm's End.

"Which means the Hightowers and the Redwynes and the Tarlys and Rowans. We are slowly losing ground."

Robb's mouth is down-turned harshly. Theon hasn't seen him smile in three days, hardly has a quiet moment with him, even for sleep. His squire duties pull him often away to do other mundane chores such as clean the king's armour or tend to their horses or fetch their tent a bucket of water. It bothers him more than he should allow others to see.

"Lord Bolton," Robb addresses the one man Theon has come to distrust," what is your opinion on the matter?"

Theon has talked to Roose Bolton a handful of times, although unwillingly, sought out for light conversation. There is something about those cold ice-chipped eyes that unnerves him. Perhaps it's knowing that the Bolton banner displays the sight of a flayed man.

There is talk of battle strategy, of alliances and, to Theon’s growing dismay, marriage.

That night is the first night he finally has Robb to himself for a time. The air is getting colder as winter approaches, furred pelts piled on the bed of the King in the North. Theon strips and climbs on, knows there will be no one coming into the tent tonight upon king’s orders. Robb greets him with a tired smile and open arms, engulfing Theon in warmth and safety.

Robb has grown into quite the man, war has reshaped him into something stronger, cut him into polished stone and he no longer walks with boyish chubby cheeks or innocence. Theon looks upon his friend, lover, king with a new respect and reinforced devotion.

“You are unusually quiet.”

Theon hadn’t realized he’d been thinking hard until his concentration was broken. He feels a kiss pressed against his head, arms squeezing him lightly. One thing that hasn’t changed is Robb’s ability to demand and steal all of his attention. “Hm, thinking.”

“You’re worried?”

He pulls back enough to look Robb in the eye. “We are at war, Your Majesty.”

Robb snorts, the corners of his lips uplifting. “You do not have to call me your majesty when no one else is around.”

“Forgive me,” Theon speaks this time, voice sultry and teasing,” Your Majesty.”

Robb lets out a little playful growl, nipping at his lover’s chin. “You have nothing to be forgiven for. You worry over nothing. Tomorrow we will be marching South, Lord Stannis will have gotten my receiving letter, surely. The lions reign will be put to an end soon, my father avenged.”

“They talked of marriage. An alliance would be beneficial.”

Robb combats the comment by pushing Theon onto his back on the bed, splaying a hand on the unprotected chest. Like this he is vulnerable, at the mercy of his trusted wolf. His dark blue eyes are intense, staring down at Theon, burning that gaze along Theon’s skin. “There will be none. Not for you or I. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

“War is not made of a boy’s promises, Robb.”

“War will not stop me. War will not decide my choices from me. Traitors of the crown killed our king and my father. They will take no more from me.”

No one sees Robb kiss him, no one hears Robb’s whispered words or the devout way they say each other’s names. Their worlds are intertwined, changing now that they are older, now that circumstances have altered. That unease that sits in Theon’s gut will return in the morning, but he will be no wiser as to why. No one can predict what will happen when the sun rises.


End file.
